


Wandering Star

by Kkharrin



Series: Lullabies [2]
Category: CATWS - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), Captain America 2 - Fandom, captain america: the winter soldier - Fandom, the winter soldier - Fandom
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Amnesia, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Comfort, Cuddles, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea how to tag, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rehabilitation, catws, post captain america 2, post winter soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkharrin/pseuds/Kkharrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It hasn't been long since Bucky turned up in Steve's apartment, tired, malnourished and ready to ask for help. As always, he had been reticent and intensely private, but when Steve is woken one night by the sound of his night terrors, he can't not try to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering Star

‘Stop…’It was a weak protestation, barely audible over the hum of the silence. Steve opened his eyes, no longer trying to sleep, the slightest edge of a frown creeping into his forehead.

Another low moan followed, along with the sounds of a body shifting under sheets.

 _Bucky_. Steve realized, still not entirely used to sharing his apartment. He held his breath in the silence, hoping that his friend had settled down to sleep once more. He felt his shoulders begin to sink back into the mattress, the tension seeping from his body.

‘No…’ The disembodied whimper made Steve shiver, a long sound, drawn out, like a child cowering in the face of violence. ‘Please, don’t make me…’

Steve clenched his eyes shut, his fingers already tight on the duvet.

‘Please…’ Bucky begged, his voice wheedling, trying to bargain his way out of something. ‘Please, you don’t have to…’ Something broke in his voice, his words wobbling, his breaths coming out a little bit faster.

_Leave him alone._

Steve felt a surge of anger run through him. He began to think through what he knew, his mind tumbling over the words he had read in the Hydra files: shocks, restraint and solitary confinement. How, in the early days, when his body had still been broken from the fall they had subjected him to a barrage of stressors…days of bright light, constant background white noise, recordings of voices repeated over and over to simulate auditory hallucinations, only removed when he had developed those of his own. Everything done to try and wipe his mind clear; to make him a vacant and pliable weapon.

 _But you never were, were you?_ Steve’s anger morphed into a strange sense of pride. You never made it easy for them, Bucky. If they wanted easy then they chose the wrong man.

A strangled cry erupted from the next room, raw, buckling with emotion. Steve sat bolt upright in his bed, already halfway to the door before he realized that he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

‘ _No_.’ Bucky’s voice had tightened to a keen; Steve could imagine his whole body tense with the pain behind that noise. It was a sound that had run up his own spine, rictusing him into position.

Steve placed a hand on the doorframe, steadying himself, already feeling his heart rate rising.

 _Please, peaceful sleep for him_.

He almost doubled over as Bucky’s shriek split the air, his hands clamped tight over his ears so he didn’t have to hear the cry taper off into another terrified whimper.

It wasn’t the first time Steve had heard Bucky cry like that. The first as teenagers, when the military had arrived at the door of the brownstone to tell him his parents were dead, the second…when he had fallen from the train.

The next cry ripped up his spinal column, leaving him doubled over his knees. Bucky was sobbing in rapid fire Russian, but Steve knew he was begging, bargaining, pleading.

 _No_. Steve decided. He couldn’t listen to this. It was with a mindless determination that he moved down the corridor and opened the door to the guest bedroom.

Bucky’s voice glared around him, gasping, floundering; his whole body writhing as he tried to fight off an invisible assailant.

‘Bucky?’ He ventured, but his voice may as well have been a breath over Bucky’s screaming.

He reached out a hand, knowing it was a terrible idea, and touched a flailing arm.

‘Buc-.’ The full force of his friend slammed him against the wall; two sets of fingers, one flesh and blood the other metallic digging into his throat. He thrashed, trying to break himself free and looked up into feral eyes. They were Bucky’s eyes, the same eyes that had lit up when he used to smile and cried when he had lost those around him, but they were not human. They were too filled with rage and survival to be human. His mouth curled in a rictus-like snarl, all teeth, glinting in the darkness. It was strange to see a face so contorted by rage but with tears drying on their cheeks.

His fingers tightened again, still screaming before…

Bucky’s hands jerked away from Steve’s neck, his whole body stumbled and almost fell as he took a rapid step backwards, holding his hands away from his body as if they were no longer his own.

‘Steve? You can’t…’ He tried to speak, his voice hoarse from screaming, but his face crumpled. ‘You can’t…I could have killed you.’

‘But you didn’t.’ Steve whispered, reaching out a hand towards his friend, the other hand rising to his bruising throat. ‘It’s ok.’

‘But it’s _not_.’ Bucky’s voice was tight, his whole body drawn so taut it seemed like even the slightest pressure would cause him to snap. ‘It’s _not_ …’

Steve could see the tears as a streak of light running down the edge of his cheek, illuminated by the window. A shudder ran through Bucky, his hands rising to cover his face, embarrassed by his tears even at a time like this.

This time Bucky did not fight as Steve laid a hand on his arm, if anything he seemed to crease up, not shifting in the slightest as Steve slid his arms around him. The movement of his ribs was jagged, even now trying to hold back the tears, his breathing a ragged wet gasp against Steve’s shoulder.

‘I want to go _home_ , Steve.’

‘I know…’ Steve whispered, his words failing him.

‘In…in the parts I remember, I always had a concept of being from somewhere, of wanting to be there, anywhere but the…’ Bucky’s voice trailed off into high pitched wail, thin and tight as he tried to silence it, his hands balling into fists against Steve’s chest.

‘Shhh…just breath.’ Steve whispered, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of Bucky’s head. He felt Bucky’s chest expand with each breath, gasping in, wheezing out.

‘We should have died with them…’ Bucky mumbled; his face pressed against Steve’s collarbone, his voice felt, more than heard, as a vibration in Steve’s chest. ‘Hundreds of thousands didn’t come home, we should have died with them…’

‘But, we…we did, we died in our times…’ Steve replied softly, repeating the words he had spoken to himself over and over in his loneliest nights.

‘But what am I supposed to do?’ Bucky’s voice was empty, hollow.

‘We use the second chance we were given…we do good in two ages, how many people can say that?'

**Author's Note:**

> Link on tumblr: http://fromproteinweareformed.tumblr.com/post/83430831005/wandering-star


End file.
